Plug.
Printed From: Progarchives.com
Category: Other music related lounges
Forum Name: Get The Word Out
Forum Description: Promote your Prog shop, website, concert, book or CD...
URL: http://www.progarchives.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=9140
Printed Date: November 25 2024 at 06:08
Software Version: Web Wiz Forums 11.01 - http://www.webwizforums.com
Topic: Plug.
Posted By: The Hemulen
Subject: Plug.
Date Posted: July 25 2005 at 15:02
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Everyone's forever plugging their own music on this website, so I think enough is enough - I'm going to plug my
creative ventures for once. If you don't know what I do, I'm an
aspiring surrealist comedian and writer and I specialise in cynical
absurdist humour. For the last few days I've been toying with a short story called "Drip Drip". As usual, I'm not satisified with merely having the words sit there and collect dust, so I've recorded it in audiobook fashion and added a (hopefully) appropriate music track by the wonderful Alamaailman Vasarat (I do hope I'm not breaking any severe laws by doing so...). I think it follows the dynamics of the story quite nicely and this proggy addition merits a little plugging on here, IMO. It's quite a "prog" story anyway: unusual arrangements, and so on...  Anyhow, here's the text for those with eyes: Drip
Drip Sighing a little attention-seeking sigh and needlessly checking her watch, Lillian observes that the 08:34 to Basingstoke is delayed by six minutes. At this rate she’ll be late for work for the third time in a week – a poor record, even by her standards. Perhaps she wants to be late, she ponders idly as she watches the seconds on the large digital clock thud along with a plodding, sodding inevitability. Perhaps the dreariness of her job, the stagnation of her life and her overwhelming desire to still be in bed where there are pillows and quilts and teddies she’s never had the heart to wish au revoir is causing the train to malfunction in some way? Or maybe there are leaves on the line. Whatever the reason, the train is delayed and there is nothing she can do but to sit and wait for it. She perches on the very edge of the cold metal bench so thoughtfully situated just outside the festering men’s toilets and wrinkles her nose pointedly as the door swings open, allowing for a quick release for the stench of stale urine, vomit, sheep’s lungs, rotting cabbages and whatever else has been deposited in that chamber of horrors. Concentrating on avoiding eye contact with the severe looking man poised on the opposite outer limits of the bench, she sets about sending a frosty and confusing text message to a friend that she doesn’t really like any more. The severe looking man, whom for the sake of argument (and fiction, come to think of it) we shall refer to as William, is dreading the train even more than dear Lillian. The reason? It will leave him within walking distance of his own messy death. He knows this because an owl has told him so, and one must never doubt the perceptive qualities of an owl. He stares blackly at the sign ahead of him, declaring to all who care to look at it that they are situated on Platform 2. His knuckles whiten as he grips his mobile phone in dread. A well-dressed young man (name of Brian) paces restlessly along the platform. He holds a shiny new briefcase (that contains just one cluster of stapled sheets and the posh pen his mother had given him for his birthday that he dares not ever write with) in his left hand and a shiny new mobile phone in his right. The old woman by the vending machine has kept count of the number of times he’s glanced at it. Thirty-four, for the record. This young man was not about to meet his death, nor was he going to work as he’d have you believe. In fact, he is on his way to a convention of mint enthusiasts where he hopes to confuse and annoy people by not knowing very much about mints. The old woman by the vending machine, incidentally, is not human, and therefore of little relevance to this story. Suffice it to say she mostly observes things and it amuses her no end. A whole eight minutes later than expected, the delayed 08:24 South West Trains service to Basingstoke groans and whimpers into the station and the disgruntled many embark. William spends the first four minutes fruitlessly wandering up and down the carriages searching in vain for two empty seats so he doesn’t have to face the horror of sitting adjacent to a stranger. In the end he slumps down next to a man with a beard at least twice as big as his head. This man is called Timothy and he is reading a magazine about birds. In particular, an article on the habits of flamingos. They sit, as does the rest of the train, in a congregation of silence, save for the steady drip drip of some liquid or other. After a few minutes of this, Lillian begins to wonder what this drip drip could be. She looks around but sees nothing and returns to her frantic texting, having managed to successfully instigate an argument about nothing whatsoever. Brian is leafing through his papers when he, too, becomes aware of the dripping. A plump droplet falls with a “splup” onto his sheets and causes the word “hooplah” to ripple and run down through “tin”, “unfortunately” and the first two letters of “castigated”. He looks up, and it dawns on him, though his eyes prefer not to believe. Timothy has noticed too, and is shifting nervously. William asks him what the matter is, and Tim mumbles, a little embarrassed, into his beard: “I… I could be wrong of course but… I believe the train is melting”. “Tickets please!” It’s one of those queer inspectors with a limping voice. Do they think they’re jolly, I wonder? Are they under the misapprehension that their absurd vocal delivery makes them a “character”? Who can say? This one, however, is painfully oblivious to the mounting disquiet in the carriages as people tut and fumble for their tickets. “Any more tickets, please?” his nasal voice swaggers. As he reaches Lillian, who is still too engrossed in her argument to notice anything but herself, Timothy leans across William and tugs at his elbow. “Ex… excuse me sir, but I think the train is melting.” The ticket inspector looks up and a blob of luggage rack hits him squarely in the forehead. “Ah” he says, and rushes to the front of the train. The train is beginning to melt rapidly now, small parts of the roof have given way and are flapping dangerously, and the tops of the windows are starting to droop. The train screeches to a halt as a voice crackles through on the intercom: “Good morning passengers and welcome aboard the South West Trains service to Basingstoke. I am sorry to inform you that the train is currently melting. This is a relatively rare occurrence, but we do have a procedure in place which we are now currently implementing. If you could look under your seats, please, you will find a sizeable bucket. We must ask you to try and collect as much of the train as possible in these buckets and then hand them to the nearest guard. You will then be escorted in groups to the nearest bus stop where a temporary bus service will be arranged to take you to your destination. We apologise for the severe inconvenience.” The old woman chuckles quietly to herself and digs out her bucket to catch a falling blob of train. Lillian begins shouting loudly to no one in particular about her now ruined skirt. Brian’s eyes dart about at the madness surrounding him as he scoops up handfuls of his seat to dump in his receptacle. Timothy and William are now chatting amiably as they fill their buckets. Timothy, it transpires, is a retired postman and a keen wildlife enthusiast. He consoles William on the matter of his imminent death, but agrees with him that the owl should not be doubted. They continue chatting on the bus all the way to Basingstoke. * * * And for those of you who are interested, William did indeed die. He was run over by a librarian in a small Nissan on his immediate arrival. And a link to the audio for those with ears: http://s44.yousendit.com/d.aspx?id=2R421B0NE36KB09MBBYLV2U 67I Those with both eyes and ears are welcome to use the two in conjunction.  Comments greatly appreciated, of course.Edit: You'll need to remove a space between the U and the 6 towards the end of that link for it to work. |
Replies:
Posted By: stonebeard
Date Posted: July 25 2005 at 15:10
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how this for a comment:
very, very good.
------------- http://soundcloud.com/drewagler" rel="nofollow - My soundcloud. Please give feedback if you want! |
Posted By: Cygnus X-2
Date Posted: July 25 2005 at 15:23
Pretty good, Trouserpress! ------------- 
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Posted By: Manunkind
Date Posted: July 25 2005 at 15:52
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Very good job, TP
------------- "In war there is no time to teach or learn Zen. Carry a strong stick. Bash your attackers." - Zen Master Ikkyu Sojun |
Posted By: goose
Date Posted: July 25 2005 at 16:22
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What sort of other people write stuff like this? That was really good
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Posted By: The Hemulen
Date Posted: July 25 2005 at 16:30
Not many that I know of... I like to thank I'm ploughing a relatively untouched field. 
Though my main influences would probably be Douglas Adams, Spike
Milligan, Lewis Caroll, P. G. Wodehouse and Samuel Beckett. If
you like what I do then they're all names worth checking out, I think. Many many thanks for the positive comments so far. Don't be afraid to say you don't like it though, as long as you tell me why!4 |
goose wrote:Posted By: Empathy
Date Posted: July 25 2005 at 16:38
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Hehe, good stuff, Trouserpress. You've inspired me to find a group of fellow mint enthusiasts!  ------------- Pure Brilliance: 
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Posted By: The Hemulen
Date Posted: July 26 2005 at 20:42
| Bumpity bump. |
Posted By: Cygnus X-2
Date Posted: July 26 2005 at 20:50
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What other ideas have you been toying around with? -------------
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Posted By: Empathy
Date Posted: July 26 2005 at 21:45
I knew I felt at home here. I thought I was the only one who "bumped" threads by quoting Genesis! ------------- Pure Brilliance:
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Posted By: The Hemulen
Date Posted: July 26 2005 at 22:19
1001 different things... two and a half plays for theatre, a manic slide show, a radio play, a novella (60% complete), various poems, sketches, etc etc... ...I write a lot.  |
Posted By: Cygnus X-2
Date Posted: July 26 2005 at 22:23
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Well, if you keep doing stuff like that, I'll keep listening! -------------
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Posted By: The Hemulen
Date Posted: August 01 2005 at 18:58
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My webmaster has told me off severely for neglecting to plug the site, so to quote directly: "PHOROAW FUC*KING WEBSITE INNIT WWW.TROUSERPRESSINGS.CO.UK" Go there, chaps! |
Posted By: Man With Hat
Date Posted: August 07 2005 at 22:30
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Nice stuff
------------- Dig me...But don't...Bury me I'm running still, I shall until, one day, I hope that I'll arrive Warning: Listening to jazz excessively can cause a laxative effect. |
Posted By: Eetu Pellonpaa
Date Posted: August 08 2005 at 04:09
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